


Messaline

by therestlessbrook



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Bondage, Consensual Kink, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-04 04:02:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18335777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therestlessbrook/pseuds/therestlessbrook
Summary: Messaline (noun) soft lightweight silk with a satin weaveOr, Karen ties Frank up.





	Messaline

She ties him to the bed.

It began as a joke, a remembrance. A murmur that maybe the only way to keep Frank from pacing was to tie him down... and then his mouth moving to reply before his brain could catch up: _Just like old times?_

Karen snorted, and their day went on.

Frank couldn’t forget it, though. Hasn’t forgotten it. He knows what it feels like to be bound and helpless; it’s happened before. He remembers his wrists tied so tightly that the tips of his fingers went numb, the sight of Bill’s familiar face, and the taste of old pennies in Frank’s mouth as he spat blood onto the cement floor. To be bound is to be at another person’s mercy—which is a joke, because most people have none.

But Karen is all mercy.

And he cannot get the thought out of his head. So he asks her and she frowns.

_You sure?_

_Yeah._

A trace of fingers across his cheek.

_If you want it to stop, just tell me. I’ll—_

_I know you will._

She doesn’t use a belt or handcuffs. The restraints are soft—an old silken scarf of hers. He could tear it, with some effort. He won’t, though. He lets her bind his wrists, raises them above his head and fixes them to the headboard. He watches her, unable to touch, fingers twitching restlessly as she shimmies out of her work clothes. Pencil skirt and blouse are draped over the back of a chair. Her bra and panties don’t match—a silken black bra and a pair of cotton underwear with a little lace along the hem. She is so beautiful it’s almost painful; he could look at her for hours: the sharp point of her nose, the way her neck curves into the hollow of her collarbones, the strength of her legs. She settles herself on the bed beside him, fingers trailing over his chest.

She smiles at him and it makes his breath catch. She leans down, her blonde hair brushing a whisper over his skin as she kisses him. His arms flex, automatically trying to pull her closer. But he cannot. For a moment, his heartbeat quickens. He needs her close, needs—

Her hand curls around his shoulder, thumb stroking back and forth as she kisses him. She swings one leg up and over, so she’s hovering above him, thighs brushing his waist, and he closes his eyes, breathes in the scent of her shampoo.

It is not his own helplessness that scares him. It is that he cannot move quickly, that if there were a threat, it would take a few seconds to tear himself free. He cannot easily make his body a shield between her and the world. Maybe that is why he needs this; he needs to prove to himself that everything won’t fall apart if he is incapacitated for a few moments.

“What do you want?” she asks, her lips just touching his. 

He has to take a moment to steady his voice. “Don’t care.” It’s her. He doesn’t give a damn about the particulars except that it’s Karen touching him.  

She kisses him one last time. There’s a playful wickedness in her face, one that she so often hides from the world. Her nails drag lightly across his stomach, downward, and goosebumps rise along his skin.

It’s the multitude of sensations: soft hair and the bite of fingernails, and then the heat of her mouth as she takes his cock in hand and swirls her tongue across the tip. He’s hard; he’s been hard since she slipped out of her clothes, but he barely noticed. Now, he’s all too aware of the sensation of blood pounding in his ears, the hiss of air against his teeth when he inhales.

Her fingers curl around the shaft, thumb sliding along a vein. He can only watch her as she laps at him, teasing little strokes of her tongue along the underside, then farther down, to the base, then back again. Were this any other time, he would have his fingers in her hair—half out of a desire to keep it out of her way and half because he just wants to touch her. To feel the silk of her hair beneath his callused fingers. Now, he can only watch, fingers flexing helplessly at the air.

She takes the crown of his cock into her mouth, sucking just lightly enough to make his vision go a little blurry at the edges. His hips jerk involuntarily and she presses on his hip in gentle restraint. This is one thing he learned about her early on—she does not give up control easily. She wears blouses and pumps like armor, wields pens as easily as he does guns, and she keeps herself a little removed from even those she is close to. Even when she and Red were all tangled up in one another—she never told him everything.

But she has told Frank. And maybe it makes him a selfish asshole, but he likes knowing that she trusts him more than anyone else. That she has let him in, allowed him to see all of her. Even the pieces she despises—especially those pieces. She carries almost as much guilt as he does, and sometimes he wonders if that was what drew them together: two souls who recognized something of themselves in the other.

She takes him a little deeper into her mouth, one hand lazily stroking. Her other hand moves downward, between her own legs and she moans around his cock. It’s sinful, the sound she makes when she touches herself and he’s jealous of that hand—he wants to be the one to touch her, to feel the wet, blazing heat of her. He can barely see what she’s doing and somehow that makes it all the more tantalizing.

He rasps her name, and she hums a reply, the vibrations going through him. He’s breathing hard now, wrists twisting a little. Not because he wants to break free, but because it almost hurts not to move.

He says her name again, and she draws off of him, kissing the underside of his cock. She mouths at the sensitive place just beneath the head, tongue darting into the slit. Her lips are a little swollen. Her hand is still moving between her legs and there’s a flush high on her cheeks, on her chest, and her eyes are mostly pupil. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he manages to say. Then, “Please.”

Mercy. He is at her mercy—and that’s how he knows he’s safe.

The corners of her mouth crook into that wicked smile, and then she swallows him down again, this time with even more vigor.

She sucks harder, fingers grasping a little tighter, and he can feel tension coiling beneath his stomach, every muscle taut and straining. She is continuously making small sounds of pleasure now, a moan on every exhale, and he watches as her eyes fall shut. Her moan sharpens to a whine as she orgasms.

It’s too much. Her mouth, her hand, the sounds she makes—it feels like falling down a flight of stairs; he can’t catch himself, can’t do anything but feel his stomach jolt with weightlessness. Pleasure slams into him, so he feels his cock jerk within her mouth and she just doesn’t stop, keeps working him as he comes hard. She catches the spill across her tongue. He cannot speak, can barely catch his breath. He stares up at the ceiling for a few moments, chest heaving, an ache between his shoulder blades.

She kisses him one last time before moving up the bed. Her body has a light sheen of sweat and she’s a little unsteady as she reaches up, unknotting the scarf. Then his arms are free and around her. One palm against her cheek, the other resting on her hip. He kisses her, tries to convey all the things he can’t say.

The scarf is placed on the bedside table, and Karen drapes herself over him. He has that pleasure-drunk exhaustion that comes after really good sex, and she watches him.

“Was that what you wanted?” she asks.

He isn’t really sure what he wanted—to know that he could be bound and not panic, or to let her know that he trusts her implicitly, or to give control to her, or because he wanted to prove something to himself. All he knows is that he wants her, anything she’ll give him. His fingers stroke across her back, and he feels her relax against him.

“Yes,” he says, and means it.


End file.
